


Share and Share Alike

by thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alexios is Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Antagonism, Enemies to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: With Kassandra, Alexios and their mother returned to Sparta, the house where Stentor grew up is crowded. When he's forced to share his room with Deimos, Stentor refuses to back down.
Relationships: Deimos/Stentor (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29
Collections: Little Black Dress Exchange 2020





	Share and Share Alike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greygerbil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/gifts).



"You breathe too loudly," Stentor says. "I can't sleep. Are you doing that on purpose?"

The house where Stentor grew up is too small for the whole family to live there comfortably and he resents the necessity to share the room that's been his since his adoption, though he understands it probably belonged to Deimos first. If he'd married, he'd have his own house by now and he wouldn't have to lie there, night after night, listening to Deimos' breath in the dark. He could stay in the barracks, of course, but part of him feels as if that would be admitting defeat. Deimos would like that, he thinks, but Stentor is an exemplary Spartan; he will not concede. 

"And what would you say if I said I am?" Deimos replies. 

The issue with that is that Stentor doesn't actually know, so he just sighs exasperatedly. He does a lot of that these days, since Kassandra and her irritating little brother sauntered back into Sparta; they argue at the dinner table and they fight on the training grounds and Stentor, if pushed, might admit that he enjoys the challenge. Without the strange gold sword that he gave to his sister, which she's more than likely going to return to him once she's completely certain he won't use it to stab them in their sleep, Deimos is more or less just a man, but that doesn't mean he's a straightforward adversary. He didn't train in Sparta, of course, but that just makes him more difficult to predict.

Stentor doesn't respond but Deimos' breath doesn't get any quieter. If anything, it gets louder. It gets harsher, like he's...oh. _Oh_. Of course he is. Stentor groans. 

"You're disgusting," he says, but he can hear what Deimos is doing just across the room, in the very nearly perfect dark, underneath his blanket. Maybe not even under the blanket, he thinks - the slick sound of oiled skin on skin isn't muffled enough for that. 

"Don't tell me you don't do it," Deimos says. His voice is strained but amused and Stentor can't help imagining him lying there. Maybe he's naked, or he's still in the tunic he wore to bed, just with the linen pushed up to his waist. Maybe he's on his knees with his thighs spread wide. Maybe he's on his back, hips pushing up against his hand. Stentor has seen him naked, of course - they aren't coy about washing or changing clothes around each other. He finds it's a strangely easy leap from that to seeing this inside his head.

"Not in the same room as people I hate," he replies. 

"Who says I hate you?" Deimos takes a deep, hissing breath in. He exhales slowly. Stentor, not so far away at all but definitely far enough, could almost convince himself he can feel it on his skin. He clenches his jaw. "Do you hate me, Stentor?"

He didn't expect to be asking himself that particular question in the middle of this particular night, but he does so anyway. Does he actually hate him? Deimos hasn't injured him personally, at least no more than cuts and bruises when they fight. All he's done is take over half of his room, like land given up in a treaty neither of them was party to, and sometimes he beats him when they spar. Perhaps Deimos has killed men, but...well, they've both killed. It's what they've both been trained for all their lives, in their different ways. In their different ways, they've both been trained very well.

He doesn't have time to dwell on that, however. He hears Deimos move, and perhaps he's more demigod than man after all because he doesn't seem to require light to find his way across the room. Of course, it's not far from his bed to Stentor's, and it's not difficult to find the edge of his blanket. And when Deimos slips in under it, Stentor finds he's definitely taken off his tunic. Stentor's arm brushes Deimos' bare chest, and Deimos runs his fingers down it to find Stentor's hand. Deimos brings that hand down between his thighs and wraps it tight around his own stiff cock, then he slips one of his own hands up under the hem of Stentor's tunic. Stentor, ruefully, knows Deimos will find him half hard now, too.

" _That_ doesn't feel like hate," Deimos says, amused, with his mouth so close to Stentor's neck that his breath tickles. 

"Lust and hate aren't mutually exclusive," Stentor replies, tightly. 

Deimos chuckles. His teeth graze Stentor's neck. "I like the sound of lust," he says, and he starts to stroke. At length, Stentor does the same; under the circumstances, it almost seems rude not to. 

Chances are that in the morning, they'll argue over breakfast then fight outside until one or both of them is bloody. Then Stentor has duties to perform, and Deimos might go with him; sometimes he does, needling him all day long until another fight breaks out. Stentor wishes he could show more control, but he just gets under his skin. He seems to know precisely how. 

In the morning, they'll probably fight. In the morning, he'll probably regret this. But, just for now, he finds he doesn't mind sharing.


End file.
